The high-pitched cracks of magic gunfire echoed from atop Malten’s western wall. Since last night, their volleys became more frequent as sorceresses struggled to repel growing waves of crawling devils. But they didn’t stand alone. Intermittent explosions marking their every strike, Lukas’s men joined the fray. Experience with bombs taught them to erect shrapnel-proof barricades.

Hopefully, improvised weapons and tactics could defend the city. Failure would bring catastrophe.

Although three large tents stood where only one was last night, Dimitry’s field hospital couldn’t accommodate surges in casualties. The west main street it clogged was too narrow for extensive construction. Densely packed buildings and a massive gate flanked the stone road, leaving space only for a supply house, an operating room, and a rest hub for on-call medical personnel. There wasn’t capacity for overflow. Too many patients at once would result in deaths.

However, despite the occasional flying devil sneaking over city walls, Dimitry treated only three people since last night. None of the casualties were life-threatening. Although hopeful that the trend continued, it was unlikely. The struggle had only begun.

Two of the queen’s guards lowered their halberds and stepped aside when a hospital porter carrying a crate full of jugs approached. He stopped beside Dimitry. “Claricia told me to bring detrilled… demilled water. Where should I put ‘em?”

Thinking he should find time to educate his staff, Dimitry pointed to the tent behind him. “Leave them on an incendia blanket so they don’t freeze.”

The porter nodded and ducked to fit through the supply house’s leather door.

Observing their brief exchange were hundreds of eyes. They belonged to refugees huddling beside rusted walls and in adjacent alleyways. Ever since rumors about Zera’s Thunder and sticky bombs began to spread, more came to watch the Jade Surgeon—controversial bringer of miracles and Church-like magic.

Among the growing crowd was a woman cradling an infant. She regularly visited the soup kitchen. Upon meeting Dimitry’s gaze, her head respectfully lowered.

A man sat on a blanket across the street. Leaned over a makeshift altar of scrapped wood, he held Celeste’s statue in outstretched arms, mumbling holy verses.

Well-doing residents peered out from second-floor windows to exchange exuberant chatter with neighbors.

Unfortunately, appreciative gestures, fanatical praise, and gossip weren’t all Dimitry saw. As his supporters increased in number, so did potential threats. Men in tattered rags would shoot hateful glares as they passed. Cloaked figures atop iron roofs watched unflinchingly.

Dimitry didn’t know what to expect. Would someone rush past the queen’s halberdiers to strike him? Or did they wait until he was alone? Maybe it wasn’t the public that posed a threat, but those lurking amongst them, prepared to shoot poisoned crossbow bolts at an angered noble’s cue.

Dimitry wouldn’t let them catch him off guard. When a wintry gale howled by, he turned away and pulled in his coat to conceal a conversation with a corrupted creature. “Precious.”

A little weight shifted in his hood, muttering sleepy complaints.

“Wake up.”

As if pestered on a lazy Saturday morning, she snuggled further into furred cloth. “Later.”

Dimitry rattled his hood.

“Hey! I’m trying to nap here!”

He ignored her complaint. “Do you sense anyone trying to kill me?”

The faerie yawned, and her wings gently vibrated against his nape. “Oh, Dumitry. What would you do without me?” She stretched for far too long.

“Are you getting anything?”

“I’m not sure. Probably someone is, but there are so many strong emotions that it’s hard to tell. Trying to pick through them is like choosing what to eat first at a fruit stall. Well, if I don’t get swatted away, that is.”

Dimitry clenched his teeth. Without the resources to vet everyone who approached, the best he could do was stay under a guard’s protection. Fortunately, he only had to worry about physical assault. The reflectia gambeson Saphiria had delivered to him this morning nullified offensive spells from all but the best mages. Or so she claimed. Not that he doubted her. As a capable mage and a former assassin, Saphiria’s advice held considerable weight.

A sticky bomb exploded in this distance.

Precious tugged on his ear. “Ooh, ooh! Can we go watch some more explosions?”

Dimitry sighed. For her attention to deviate at a whim, Precious was an easily distracted creature. “Maybe later if there’s time.”

“But why not now? All you’re doing is standing around.”

“I know you’re excited, but let’s be patient.”

“You suck.”

Although Dimitry didn’t mind complying with Precious’s request, he had two final tasks before the night of repentance. One was completing the field hospital’s assembly.

The other involved myrmidon. It was a request he received from the aquatic demon’s ambassador weeks ago. Even now, she hid in the castle, waiting to see people fight bravely against rock giants. Leylani demanded proof that heathens were humanity’s enemy.

And Dimitry intended to give her all the evidence she wanted.

By flaunting enhanced voltech rifles and sticky bombs’ destructive potential on the night of repentance, he would provide quite the tale for her to tell when she returned to Waira. One that would secure a fragile alliance between both nations, supply a starving city with seafood, and guarantee Dimitry’s safety and authority as an irreplaceable diplomat.

Unfortunately, he had to wait until Angelika returned. She had left to ‘go get something’. Without his guard, Dimitry was at the mercy of streets filled with frantic and fanatic refugees. A trip to the castle wasn’t safe.

“Mr. Dimitry,” Lili’s muffled voice called from several meters back.

Did his head nurse need more guidance on sharpening scalpels? Dimitry turned away from an entranced crowd and marched through the narrow gap between tents until he reached the one closest to the western gatehouse. He peeled away the entrance flap and ducked through. “What’s up?”

A freckle-faced girl hovered over an iron instrument stand. After her slender finger nudged hemostatic forceps into place, she looked back to face him. “The preparations are finished.”

Although Dimitry had started the operating room’s construction, he had left Lili in charge of the rest to forge her technical and leadership skills. “How’d it go?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Dimitry?”

“Very well.” He approached a box full of surgical tools. In a world where low-quality steel cost fortunes and disposable instruments were a forlorn dream, careful maintenance was necessary to prevent blunt edges where they didn’t belong and rusting. Dimitry glanced past spell canisters and curved vascular scissors and examined an array of tissue forceps. None had so much as a fingerprint on their surface.

“Not bad.”

“But of course.”

“Don’t get overconfident,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll find something to lecture you on.”

Wearing a confident smile, Lili stepped forward. “Do try, Mr. Dimitry.”

He strode over to an oak drawer boasting incendia’s red glow—this world’s equivalent to a warming cabinet. Inside were heated blankets, gauze rolls, and linens. Their purpose was to help surgery patients maintain normal body temperatures despite the winter weather. Open wounds compounded by hypothermia didn’t bode well for health outcomes.

After confirming that an earlier incident’s erratic blood splatter vanished from the cabinet’s surface, he glanced at the girl trailing him. “How did you clean it?”

“With the seventy percent ethanol mixture we use to sterilize instruments.”

Her decision was a prudent one. Medium-high concentration alcohol mixtures disinfected surfaces best—a cautionary measure for an environment abound in potentially unknown microbes.

Dimitry reached the operating table in the tent’s center and examined the illumina surgery lights overhead. No trace of saliva, mucus, or urine remained on either. “And I’m guessing you did the same here?”

“Yes.”

For a girl who didn’t know what a germ was less than a month ago to come so far impressed him. “You did a fine job. There’s nothing for me to complain about.”

“Then you admit defeat, Mr. Dimitry?”

A chuckle escaped him. If defeat entailed competent employees, he couldn’t complain. “I do.”

“Glad to hear it.” Although Lili wore a playful smile, it vanished before long. Only shaky fingers that fiddled with the pink ribbon at her ponytail’s end remained.

Was she frightened? It made sense. Until now, her achievements had been to prepare for the night of repentance, when flying devils would soar above, and crawlers would slam into Malten’s walls with increasing ferocity. Their responsibilities to injured patients meant they couldn’t hide. They would both remain here, prey to deadly beasts.

Dimitry’s expression morphed to one of concern. “Thanks to you, the operating room is ready. But how about you? I might ask for your help during a procedure—think you’d be able to handle it?”

Lili looked up from the floor, a devilish grin creeping across her face. “I can’t wait.”

Dimitry’s brow furrowed. Did he misread her? Who in their right mind anticipated working under stressful conditions intensified further by impending heathen raids? “I… see. In that case, I’ll be expecting your best.”

“Hey, Dimitry!” an impatient sorceress shouted outside.

“That is Angelika, no?” Lili asked.

“Yep. My cue to leave.” Ducking out of the tent, he glanced back. “I might have to step away from the clinic for a little while. Would you?”

“I’ll handle matters while you’re gone, Mr. Dimitry.” She bowed. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you.”

The same frigid winds and gloomy gray skies met Dimitry when he emerged onto Malten’s streets. However, unlike before, the crowd’s attention wasn’t on him. They clamored over the gold-glowing rifle strapped to a sorceress’ back.

“That’s it!” said a man glancing out from a window. “Zera’s Thunder!”

“I know her! She’s the apostle’s combat mage.”

An elderly woman lowered her head. “Celeste guide you, young one.”

Although Angelika frowned, her haughty posture and folded arms hinted at boastfulness. “Damn refugees won’t leave me alone.”

“To see my baby sister all grown up and popular,” the enchantress accompanying her said. “How long until some lucky person whisks you away to their riverside manor? Home won’t be the same without you.”

“Leona?”

“Yes?”

“I hate you.”

Dimitry massaged his chin. Angelika mentioned she went home to get something, but she never mentioned that something was Leona. He approached the sorceresses. “Good afternoon.”

Angelika waved. “Yo.”

Leona curled her crimson robe’s bottom to curtsy. “I pray you are doing well.”

“I’m well,” Dimitry said. “Are you here to enchant equipment?”

The enchantress hesitated before brushing wavy scarlet hair back behind her ear. Leona glanced at her sister. “You didn’t tell him?”

Angelika shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“What’s not a big deal?” he asked.

“So, remember when that flying devil nearly killed some people?”

Angelika referred to this morning. The sorceresses on Malten’s walls missed their shots at a heathen, which proceeded to spread its stony wings and swooped down like a fighter jet preparing for a strafing run. If it wasn’t for her well-timed shot, several would have died.

Dimitry nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Even though I managed to shoot the fucker—”

“Mind your language,” Leona said. “You represent our family and Dimitry now.”

“Oh, shut up.” Angelika sighed. “As I was saying, it’s only going to get worse. There’ll be a lot more of them, and I might not be able to kill them all on my own. That’s why I brought Leona. She won’t admit it, but she’s a pretty decent shot.”

Leona bowed. “I can’t promise excellence, but I’ll do my best.”

Having another sorceress’ support would put Dimitry at ease. It allowed him to focus on work instead of scanning the skies for murderous beasts or the grounds for assassins. However, as someone who always relied on the Vogels’ help, he didn’t want to seem overbearing.

“Are you sure that’s fine?” he asked. “Don’t you need to watch the shop?”

“That’s not a problem,” Leona said. “Now that the wall’s fully enchanted, our mother has time to rest at home.”

“I see. If you’re okay with it, I’ll gladly accept the help. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank her,” Angelika said. “She’s been begging to test enhanced rifles ever since that day we killed that chicken. She’s doing this for herself as much as she is for us.”

Like a politician, Leona appeared unfazed. “It’s only natural for an enchantress to have experience using her own products.”

“Bullshit. I’ve never seen you wield a rock hammer or wear plate armor.”

“You’d betray your beloved sister?”

“Yeah, I would.”

After a moment grinning at their antics, Dimitry glanced up at darkening clouds. This peaceful lull might be the last before the night of repentance, and he still had to meet with Leylani. “Would you two mind escorting me somewhere?”

In a small chamber of chiseled stone brick, egg yolk’s rich smell permeated every corner. The fatty, mineralized odor wafted from bottles filled with tempera paints and bristles loaded with lapis lazuli and lime. Carrying their combined pigments, a brush stroked across an oak canvas. Deep azure melded with pure white to create beautiful aquamarine depths fit to depict the late duke’s irises.

Klaire slowly inhaled, taking a moment to appreciate art’s blessing. She then met the gaze of what she considered an unthinking beast only two weeks ago and pointed to newly birthed ocean waves. “Blue.”

Yellow eyes tracked her finger’s every movement. “Blumn.”

“Blue.”

“Bloon.”

“Blue.”

“Blue.” Leylani patted her long, white hair. No longer the unkempt mess of braids and loose strands, today it fell neat and lustrous. “Klaire brush hair. Klaire brush… blue.”

Excited tingling surged through Klaire’s legs, almost causing her to jump in cheer. She was teaching a demon! It was strange. Ever since she was a baby, she listened to priestesses and bishops preach that corrupted creatures lacked rational thought. Like swine acting on primal urges, the gospel claimed they sought to raze humanity’s achievements.

How wrong the scriptures were. Leylani showed intelligence. Her learning capacity was no less than a human’s, and the language she spoke held similar complexity.

But that wasn’t all aquatic demons offered. They were an unexplored avenue to limitless wealth. The ability to reap deep waters’ bounty despite heathens allowed for the procurement of ingredients so luxurious that not even King Gregorius of Amalthea could afford to eat them daily. Sturgeon and shark. Tempestwyrm and salmon.

By comparison, ore was nothing. Fishing was Malten’s future. No longer would Klaire have to auction priceless treasury artifacts to afford crop and textile imports. No longer would she have to part with irreplaceable vol when purchasing spices. For the first time in a decade, the city’s finances could be secure.

However, despite the benefits an alliance brought, something nagged at Klaire. A damning miasma contaminating her heart. If the gospel lied about aquatic demons, what else was untrue? Were gargoyles genuinely evil? How about faeries? Did the matriarchs hear Zera’s voice or only claim they did? Why was it humanity’s duty to cleanse Remora of corrupted creatures?

How many aquatic demons did Klaire, her mother, and the rest of the Hofmann lineage senselessly slaughter after centuries handling logistics for coastal crusades?

She didn’t know.

And it terrified her.

Klaire shied away from the thought. Instead, she focused on her two favorite things: painting and establishing novel trade routes. Perhaps they alone could mend old grievances.

“Lmyoan.” Leylani pointed to the bottle of lapis tempera paint with a translucent, pink finger. “Lmyoan.”

Realizing lmyoan meant blue, Klaire reached for the dip pen resting on her ear and a parchment notebook functioning as a Wairan dictionary. Overcoming language barriers prefaced friendly relations. She prepared to scribble the word under a hundred others. “Lmyoan?”

“Lee-myo-ahn.”

“Leemyoahn?”

Leylani’s lips curved into what might have been a smile. “N’shan.”

That was a familiar word—one of praise. Filled with pride, Klaire loaded the brush with green, copper resinate paint before offering it to her guest. “You try?”

“Thank.”

A knock on the door.

Leylani’s head shot back.

Klaire froze. Who dared violate Her Royal Majesty’s order forbidding passage into the library’s depths? If someone discovered an aquatic demon within the queen’s domain, chaos would ensue.

Ignoring her trembling legs, she rose slowly and pointed to a cloak. “Leylani. Please.”

The aquatic demon swiftly concealed her inhuman skin and horns.

Thankful for her understanding, Klaire approached the door. “Yes?”

“I apologize for bothering you when you’re so busy,” a man said, “but I need to speak with both of you.”

Oh no.

That voice.

It was his. The surgeon who strove to either save Malten or launch it into another era of feudal squabbles and civil strife. Like the devil broodmare that stole Celeste’s will, he manipulated all with knowledge unknown for equally mysterious ambitions. One hand displayed miracles for all to see. The other lurked beyond sight, molding both gentry and noble hearts.

Klaire’s mother always said, ‘If you buy a loaf cheaper than the weight of its flour, pray your teeth can chew through rock.’ There was not a person who bestowed gifts out of kindness. Every magnanimous act had its price.

With all his wondrous deeds, what price did Dimitry come to collect today?

Klaire scoured the room for an excuse not to let him in.

There wasn’t one.

As if no longer concerned, Leylani continued to scribble stickdemons on an oak canvas.

Shit. Klaire was trapped. Neither the aquatic demon nor Her Royal Majesty knew of the Jade Surgeon’s trickery, and as a mere stewardess, Klaire had to play along. She exhaled deeply and shook her hands. She could do this. She dealt with scammers daily. What was one more? “This one apologizes for the wait.”

The door opened, and a man with indecipherable pale green eyes stood beyond. “Hello. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No.” Klaire forced a laugh. Damn. It sounded fake. Did he know? “We were just making art.”

“I see.” He smiled. “May I come in?”

Another fake laugh. Why couldn’t Klaire act natural? Act natural, damn it!

“By all means.” She hopped aside.

When the door closed, only demonic gurgles too quick to grasp escaped his mouth. Leylani, continuing to paint, responded in kind.

Despite Klaire’s struggle to decrypt their conversation, she understood only a few of the words she thought she heard.

How did Dimitry speak Wairan so effortlessly? Where did he study, and why? For a man no older than twenty to command a language so distinct from Eorsian, Melvum, and Roslen puzzled her. Young age gave Dimitry little time to master it. And his achievements didn’t end there. In a single month, he cured the plague, developed ‘Zera’s Thunder’, and the so-called ‘sticky bomb’ with ‘science’.

Perhaps the rumors were true.

Maybe Dimitry was the apostle.

Klaire shook her head. Unlikely. If aquatic demons patiently painted, and surgeons wielded Church magic, why should the apostle exist? Either all the gospel held truth, or none of it did. No. Dimitry was something else. Someone beyond her understanding of the world. But what exactly did that entail?

She glanced up from her slippers to discover pale green eyes and yellow eyes that watched her in silence. Klaire’s spine snapped upright. How long did she zone out? Was a question asked? Did she make a mockery of herself?

Dimitry cleared his throat. “Klaire, may I ask for a favor?”

“Um, yes?”

“I’ve spoken to Leylani, and she wants to watch us fight heathens. Could you accompany her to the gatehouse tower on the night of repentance?”

Did he seriously expect Klaire to hide an aquatic demon while heathens roamed nearby? Nope. That wasn’t her job. “I apologize, Jade Surgeon, but I’m quite busy with… important things.”

He displayed a wicked grin. “I may be mistaken, but the queen mentioned you would be free to help.”

Damn! Why did Her Royal Majesty always do this to Klaire? First, she sent her on a diplomatic voyage across demonic waters, and now she had to survive heathen raids?! Since when did stewardesses risk their lives? “If the c-crown demands my presence, then… then…”

“I know it’s dangerous,” he said, “but if we don’t show the myrmidon our bravery, they’ll look down on us. I’m sure you know why that’s bad. The kingdom’s counting on you.”

Leylani looked on, her glare shedding respect by the moment.

With trembling arms and a soul screaming at her to refuse, Klaire sighed. She was trapped once more. If she declined now, she would compromise Malten’s future and sully the Hofmann name. “I guess I’ll do it,” the words slipped out of her mouth.

“I appreciate it.”

“Thank,” the aquatic demon said.

Just as Klaire accepted her fate, a horn resounded from the west. Her eyes shot open.

Oh no. It was far too soon.

“What’s that?” Dimitry asked.

“C-carapaced devil.”